


seven for a secret

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, M/M, a tad bit of hurt/comfort, vaguely set in the his dark materials universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 13:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30072663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Yassen visits Ian at the college, and Ian learns a bit about his lover's past.
Relationships: Tom Harris/Alex Rider, Yassen Gregorovich/Ian Rider
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	seven for a secret

**Author's Note:**

> i love the hdm books so much so it was only a matter of time before i wrote hdm!verse ianyassen. i make no apologies for how self-indulgent this is

The arches of the college rise high above Ian; casting shadows in the bright sunlight—an unusual occurrence, so early in spring; it's only half through March, and Ian's amazed that there's no snow on the ground. The year before, they had been hit by a horrid snowstorm, and had muddy sleet on the streets well into April—but even on normal years, usually the snow stays on the ground until mid-March. Then again, he supposes, the recent increase of sunlight probably has to do with that. He readjusts his grip slightly on his luggage.

It's still fairly cold despite the sunlight, though; and windy, too; the breeze biting at his cheeks; and he's suddenly very glad that he elected to wear his thick, wool scarf rather than the more ornamental silk one. Obernius, too, is obviously feeling the cold; his dark coat fluffed out and his tail like a bottle-brush.

He's been away from the college for about a month and a half; travelling with a small contingent of professors from other colleges, studying the nesting habits of tawny owls across the country.

Ian's just about to ascend the stone steps to the entrance when a blur of blonde explodes from out of the doors and assaults him, wrapping him in a full body embrace. He's shocked, for a moment, when Obernius doesn't react; and then he smiles lightly as he realises who it is. For once, he had elected to leave Alex behind, under the watch of fellow professor, and deputy Dean, Jack Starbright. Alex has obviously missed him.

"Hello, there, Alex," he greets, when the young boy pulls away, and reaches forward to brush a strand of hair away from where it's dangling in his eyes. "You haven't cut your hair since I left," he observes. His nephew's hair's started to get shaggy, and along with his gangly limbs, he looks like a shaggy-haired colt.

A small sparrow lands on Alex's shoulder. "I've been telling him to get it trimmed, at least," Ignivien huffs; her beady eyes examining Ian critically. "He looks a right mess—even the other children have noticed."

"Then we are truly in dire straits," Ian says; faux-sombrely. By his side, Obernius lets out a rumble of laughter.

Alex scowls. "I do wish you two would stop talking about me like I weren't here," he mutters; and then, as if only just remembering, "Jack sent me to watch for you—dinner's being served soon, and she thought you might like the forewarning."

Ian hums. "So they've finally decided to shift the hour then, eh?" he questions, opening the doors and making his way down the halls. Scampering along after him, Alex nods.

"Yeah," he says. "The Dean isn't happy about it—but then, when is she happy about anything?" he asks, drily; to which Ian has to concur. Jones is almost as pinched and proper as her predecessor, though, in Ian's opinion, a much more ethically stout person. "Oh," Alex says, as they approach Ian's quarters, "Jack wanted me to tell you that someone's visiting you this evening—around nine?"

Ian frowns lightly. "Did she say who?" he enquires.

Alex shakes his head. "Just that you should probably be ready to entertain him for a long while," he says, sounding as if he's quoting the redheaded professor word for word. Knowing Alex's impressive retention of memory, he probably is. "Oh," Alex adds, suddenly, "I wanted to ask—did you bring anything interesting back?"

The frown evaporates from Ian's lips. "Cutting straight to the chase, I see," he teases, opening the door to his quarters, Obernius padding after him. He lets Alex follow after him as well. Setting down his luggage, he opens the smallest one, pulling out a bottle, a box, and a few feathers. "These are for you," he says, proffering the box and the feathers—one long, indigo, almost as dark as the night, and the others a vibrant green. "We ran into a man who kept exotic birds," he explains. "I was able to convince him to allow me to sketch some of them, and take some of the feathers they molted." He takes the bottle, putting it in the back of one of the drawers of his dresser.

Alex takes them, tucking them into the messenger bag he's taken the carrying everywhere with him in the last year—all but the long, indigo one, which he offers to Ignivien. "For your nest," he murmurs, quiet enough that Ian almost misses it. She chirps and flits upwards, purchasing in his hair; and Alex lets out a soft laugh.

He takes the box next, turning it over in his hands until he finds the seam, and splits it open. Inside lays an ornate fountain pen, and a few bottles of dark ink, and Alex's eyes widen as he runs a gentle finger over them. "I thought you might as well have one of your own," Ian says. "Keep you from stealing mine to write letters to your friend."

Alex flushes. "I don't steal yours," he protests; but it's half-hearted. Eventually, he says, "It'll be nice to be able to write to Tom whenever I want. Thank you, Ian."

Ian waves him off; opens his mouth to say it's no problem. Just then, the Great Bell tolls five; and Alex quickly closes the box and shoves it into his bag. "Come on," he says, "we don't want you to miss dinner." He makes his way out of Ian's quarters, disappearing around the corner.

Ian turns to Obernius. "Do you want to come along?" he asks. "Or would you prefer to stay apart from me?" The hullabaloo of the Dinning Hall can get a bit overwhelming for Obernius at times, and Ian's never faulted him for the nights when the panther slipped from his side to roam the quieter halls.

Obernius, whose fur has settled since they entered the warmth of the college, shakes his massive head. "I'll be fine," he says; deep voice quiet—he's always been very soft spoken; something that Ian does his best to emulate.

Ian nods in assent and makes his way out into the hallway, closing the door behind him and locking it, slipping the key into his pocket; Obernius by his side.

Dinner is a loud affair; but absolutely delicious; and Obernius doesn't seem to mind the noise too much, curled up beneath his chair at the High Table. When it wends to a close, it's around eight; and Ian's exchanged greetings with many of the professors, and discussed his findings with Jack, who listens with an interested expression.

Finally, though, the conversation flows to its natural end, and everyone begins to disperse from their respective tables; and so, Ian rises as well; making his way back to his quarters.

The next hour or so he spends organising his notes and putting his luggage away. Obernius lounges on his bed, keeping one eye cracked, watching him lazily, as is his way. Occasionally, Ian will frown at his notes, and ask Obernius for clarification on a particular line; and the panther will remind him of what, exactly, he had meant by it; and Ian will thank him and jot it down.

A few moments after the Great Bell tolls nine, there's a knock on his door; and Ian rises from his desk to open it. The man that greets him is a familiar, if unexpected sight. "Yassen," he says, stepping aside, "come in."

The dark-haired man dips his head; slipping past Ian into the room; quiet as a shadow. As long as Ian has known him, he's always been this light on his feet, but Ian's still not used to it. He's not sure if he ever will be. He pulls out one of the folding chairs from the recesses of his closet, offering Yassen his desk chair. "I'm surprised to see you this early in the year," he says; to break the silence that's settled over them.

Yassen hums. "A job brought me close enough I thought I should visit," he says.

Ian hesitates. "You didn't get hurt, did you?" he asks, quietly; hands itching to reach out and touch the other. Obernius' descended from the bed and to Ian's side, and he's watching Yassen with an unreadable expression—one he always wears when it comes to the man.

Yassen hesitates. Then he says, "Yes," and tugs at his vest. This time, Ian does reach out to still his hand. Yassen doesn't protest

"I think I might want a drink for this," Ian says, rising, and pulls the bottle from the back of his dresser, along with two cups. "Kvas," he says, as he pours, offering one of the cups to Yassen, who takes it with a nod.

He sips it; an expression of near-surprise flickering across his face. "This is...very good," he says. "Where did you find it?"

Yassen ducks his head; ears darkening at what passes for praise with the other man. "Came into contact with a Panserbjørn," he says.

Yassen raises a brow; taking another sip. "This far south?" he says. "That is...surprising."

Ian shrugs. "She was some sort of exile, I think. Kept mum about it, mostly, but she did let me trade some of my daggers for her kvas." The daggers, Yassen had given him; but Ian had figured that it was worth it, planning to share the kvas with Yassen.

Yassen makes a  _ tch _ sound. "Waste of good steel," he grumbles; but there's something almost warm about his expression; and Ian thinks he appreciates the gesture. He drains the rest of his glass, and then sets it on the arm of his chair, tugging, once again, at his vest; unbuttoning it, and then pulling the shirt beneath up. When it's free of his trousers, it reveals a red, though not too terribly inflamed, jagged wound on his abdomen.

Ian draws a sharp breath; and he can feel Obernius tense by his side. He sets his own glass down, still half-full, and leans forward, drawing a gentle finger, feather-light over the wound. "Who did that to you?"

Yassen grimaces. "An old enemy," he says. "I...gave him a similar wound, once, though more severe, and he never forgave me the slight."

Ian worries his lip; hand rising to cup the other's face. "I'm glad you came back to me," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the other's forehead. Obernius, too, does his best to comfort the man; circling the chair, letting his tail brush Yassen's hand—not much, at first glance, but knowing how frosty Obernius was towards Yassen at the start, it means a lot.

"I am glad too," Yassen murmurs. "I...for a moment, I was not sure I would be able to."

Fear clenches Ian's throat. "It got that bad?"

Yassen nods. "I got better, but..." he trails off, leaving it to Ian's imagination. He hesitates, for a long moment, and then says, "I saw..." His expression twists, and for a moment, Ian thinks he's about to cry. He rises, suddenly, jaw tightening. "It does not matter."

"Yassen," Ian admonishes, softly, rising as well. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"It is in the past," says Yassen; but his tone speaks of a longing, of a need to explain; so Ian waits.

After a long, long time—long enough that the moon's light begins to shine through the window—Yassen speaks. "Many think me soulless," he says. "For I have no dæmon."

Ian nods; silently encouraging him to continue. Yassen has turned away from him, so Ian can only see a sliver of his face, but he still notes the way the other swallows thickly. "That was...not always true," he says; quietly. "When I was young, I had a—a companion. A dæmon. Henjan. He was—" he stops; and Ian hesitates before taking a step forward, and then another, to embrace the man. Yassen doesn't protest, just leans his head against Ian's shoulder, letting out a shaking breath. He continues. "I was...taken in by a cruel man after my parents died. Once, I tried to escape. He punished me." He pulls away; putting about a hand's length between them; but doesn't turn away from Ian this time.

The way it's stated—so simply, merely three words—understates it; Ian suspects it's on purpose. It doesn't stop his breath from stuttering. "No..." he murmurs.

The other nods. "In that moment, who I was died. Little Yasha is gone, now; all that is left is Yassen. That is why, I suspect," he says, half-humorous, "Obernius has never been too fond of me. I should not exist."

"And you saw him," Ian guesses. "When you almost..."

The silence confirms it. Ian draws in a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," he murmurs; and then: "would you...like to stay the night?" Something about Yassen's countenance suggests he wishes for comfort, but would never ask for it of his own volition. "Just to sleep," he adds; in case Yassen thinks he's beholden to something else.

Yassen hesitates for a moment; and then, says, simply, "Yes."

Obernius, who's been standing by Ian's side, makes his way over to Yassen, twining around his legs; a deep purr starting up in his throat; and Ian smiles at Yassen, offering him his hand.

Yassen takes it; a smile of his own flickering at his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
